I Don't Know Why
by Jetsam Porridge
Summary: A simple game of Truth or Dare will cause a chain of events during which Harry Potter will find out a little about those he thought he knew, and those he knew he didn’t. But he doesn’t yet know that he will find himself as well...
1. Proving Yourself With Evil Plans

**Title:** I Don't Know Why (01)  
**Author name:** Jetsam Porridge  
**Author email:** jetsamporridge@yahoo.com.au  
**Category:** Romance  
**Sub Category:** Slash  
**Keywords:** Draco Harry dare  
**Rating:** R  
**Spoilers:** SS/PS, CoS, PoA, GoF, OoTP  
**Summary:** Truth or Dare is a completely harmless way of passing the time. Or so Harry Potter thought. Of course, he forgot about his insatiable need to Prove Himself. One simple game will cause a chain of events during which Harry will find out a little about those he thought he knew, and those he knew he didn't. But Harry doesn't yet realize that he will find himself as well…  
**DISCLAIMER:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Any similarities to any other works are purely coincidental and were not intended by the author.  
**A/N:** This story switches POV fairly frequently. I don't state whose POV it is, but it's made fairly obvious quite soon after POV change. Also, Harry "talks" in present tense and Draco in past tense.  
Thanks to my wonderfully talented beta Michal, without whom this never would have turned out like it did, and who challenged me to go so much further. You are the best beta anyone could ever ask for! Much love and hugs, Michal, I am eternally grateful for everything you've done and this chapter is dedicated to you because you are GREAT!  
Thanks must also go to Ernie, who listened to me ranting all the time and, of course, gave Snape his voice, and to Madz, who helped with some of the grammar etc even though she was squicky about some of it!

~I Don't Know Why~

By Jetsam Porridge

Chapter one: Proving Yourself with Evil Plans

I don't know why I'm doing this. I think I'll put it down to temporary insanity and that insatiable desire all teenagers have to Prove Themselves. Gah.

It started late last night in the Gryffindor Seventh Year Boys Dormitory during a game of Truth or Dare. I hate Truth or Dare but seem as everyone else is playing, I join in the regular late night sessions of discussing how hot Parvati Patil looks in a miniskirt.

Of course, it was during one of these games that I, Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived, became Harry Potter, The-Boy-Who-Liked-Other-Boys.

Quite the scandal it was, too.

Actually, the whole thing was Seamus' fault. He decided that for Truth, it would be fun for us all to rate the other seventh years –boys and girls - on a scale of 1 to 10. Measuring looks. Go figure.

So we listed them and then rated each one. I couldn't say I was terribly enthusiastic about this but I didn't want to be the only one not to take part. So I did it anyway. In turn, Seamus, Ron, Dean and Neville read out their "ratings". 

As they read, I began to get more and more nervous. Their ratings were far lower than mine – _especially_ the boys'. By the time my turn came around, I was decidedly agitated.

They spent a while trying to convince me to read mine out until Ron stole my sheet of parchment and read them out for me.

The fact that my ratings for the boys averaged higher than the ones for the girls was completely unintentional. It's not _my_ fault that most of the girls in our year aren't that spectacular looking.

My roommates took this _completely_ the wrong way. Amid much laughter and jokes that got progressively more vulgar, I tried to explain it to them. Did they listen? Of course not. Instead, they took it as proof that I'm gay.

I'm not entirely sure what led them to this decision. Seamus told me that they'd had suspicions – after all, the fact that the Boy-Who-Lived, famous, youngest House Quidditch player in a century, arch-nemesis of the most evil creature in the world, is unable to manage a long-term relationship with girl, must mean he has homosexual tendencies.

Yeah. Right.

Shortly after they decided I was gay, I stupidly picked 'Dare.' 

I swear Seamus is a Death Eater. There's no other explanation for his trying to kill me, except possibly that he's jealous of my good looks (which I rather doubt, since I don't have any). 

Seamus Finnegan dared me to kiss Malfoy.

However, no dare is complete without the idiot who picked 'Dare' being completely, utterly and totally embarrassed. Seamus would not be satisfied with a peck on the cheek in an empty classroom. Oh, no, it had to be a full-on snog. And what better time to do it than breakfast?

As if Draco Malfoy, future Death Eater, resident egotistical prat and my longtime rival, would let me touch him at all, let alone kiss him! Not to mention that it would be no lighthearted kiss - and then add to that the fact that it would be in front of the whole Hogwarts population (except the two or three in the hospital wing), and you've got a recipe for Death By Malfoy. A Malfoy, as everyone knows, does not take well to being embarrassed.

That's how I came to be sitting at the breakfast table, too worked up to eat, with by palms sweating and my stomach in knots. For the thousandth time, I wish I didn't need to Prove Myself. Ron pokes me and wiggles his eyebrows. I think that means I'm supposed to do something now. So I stand up and begin walking over to the Slytherin table.

Damn my fucking pride to hell.

At while I'm at it, Seamus can go there too.

I walk over to where Malfoy sits, surrounded by his cronies, and stand behind his chair. My heart beats at a million miles a minute. When they notice me, they all stop talking and sneer at me instead. Malfoy turns around to face me.

"Potter-" he starts.

"M'sorry," I interrupt in a rush and step forward. I grab his face between my hands, lean down, and press my lips against his.

He goes very, very still for a long moment.

Then he stands up and shoves me away from him, a look of utter revulsion on his face. I fall to the floor, hard, and wince at the impact. He wipes the back of his hand across his mouth.

"Get the fuck away from me Potter, you bastard."

I've never seen him so angry. I get up from the ground in a hurry and try not to run back to Gryffindor's table. I can feel my face burning. The rest of the Hall talks in whispers, apart from my so-called friends who are pissing themselves laughing. I sit down and my head drops to the table.

"I really, really hate you, Seamus," I say faintly.

Hermione pats my arm awkwardly. I know she'll have questions later.

I wish I were dead.

But of it's own accord, my head lifts from the table and my eyes find the Slytherin table. Mafloy's gray eyes shoot daggers at me from across the room and it sends shocks of emotion through me. I feel my face go red again and my eyes drop to the table.

It's at that point that revulsion takes over and my face twists with it. I'm never playing Truth or Dare again. Because I never want to touch him again. Dare or no dare, he's my enemy – my _male_ enemy for that matter – and I _hate_ him. _Despise_ him. 

_Nothing_ will ever change that.

~*~

That morning was the worst morning of my life. 

I don't know why Harry Potter felt he had to snog me, but his reasons were of little consequence to me right then. I was more concerned about the fact that my reputation would be in tatters by lunchtime and all of Hogwarts would believe that I am gay and probably shagging the bloody Boy-Who-Lived. And then there was the prospect of looking forward to my father's reaction when he received an owl from one of the Slytherins – who cares which one –concerning his precious heir's love life, which now seem to be focused on Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived-to-Molest-Other-Boys.

I was doomed.

There was always Plan B, which unfortunately, at that point, involved running away; creating a potion that would turn me into a fat brunette and living the rest of my life hiding in a quaint little Muggle village. No, thank you, I'd rather take death.

And while the Fates were busy dooming me, they decide to throw in an extra element of _fun_, otherwise known as Potions class first thing – with the Gryffindors.

Professor Snape must have felt a little sorry for me, because he kept taking points of Wonder Boy and his entourage for smiling and being happy. I can't imagine why they were in such good moods, but then again, I didn't particularly care either. I moved on to other things as we began to work in silence.

Inevitably, my thoughts turned to that unspeakable event that had happened at breakfast. The worst part, I decided, was the humiliation. And the questions from the other Slytherins – was what that about? Was I gay? Was I shagging Potter? Where and when did I meet him for our midnight trysts? And when did I decide to get out of the closet? These are the only things worth considering, I told myself. Forget about the rest. _Do not think about the rest._

I would have to exact revenge on Potter, though. No-one, _no-one _embarrasses a Malfoy and gets away with it.

Especially Harry Potter.

I was startled out of my thoughts when I heard Professor Snape speak.

"Your ineptitude never ceases to amaze me, Potter," he said silkily. "Until this class. Detention, tonight, for your gratuitous mutilation of boomslang."

Potter obviously did not appreciate this, as his cheeks became so red one could probably fry an egg on them.

When the bell went, Professor Snape called me to stay.

"I have better things to do with my time than indulging in the discipline of celebrated Gryffindors," he said.

Suddenly I became aware of an odd feeling somewhere in the region of my stomach. I think it was nerves.

"You will oversee Potter's detention tonight, Draco." He smiled unpleasantly. "Think of it as a learning experience."

 I glared furiously at my Head of House.

"Why?" I asked.

"You are Head Boy, Draco, and with this position comes responsibilities –"

"With all due respect, _Professor_, overseeing detentions are not part of those responsibilities-"

"I have a staff meeting tonight," he interrupted in a voice that's quietness made it all the more threatening. "I expect you to be capable of…_Potter-sitting. _If you have any complaints, I suggest you see the Headmaster. As far as I am concerned, the matter is closed. Go to class."

I glared at him again and stalked out of the classroom. 

In retrospect, I think I admire him a lot less than I used to.

~*~

I tried praying to every single God I could think of for some way out of this detention, but obviously there is no God, because it's 7 o'clock and I'm outside the Potions classroom without any other options but to go in.

Seamus is going to pay. Big time.

I push open the door while my mind screams at me to run, run far, far away. _Malfoy_ is sitting in Snape's chair, his feet on the desk and reading the latest edition of _Quidditch Monthly_. He turns the page lazily.

 "Well, go on then," he drawls. "You know what to do, I'm sure."

Malfoy?

"Where's Professor Snape?" I blurt.

"Busy," he replies.

Oh. Busy. Right.

For a minute, I don't move. But Malfoy doesn't even look in my direction, so I sigh and begin scrubbing.

The minutes drag, and as each of them passes I find myself wishing more and more that a rather large weight would conveniently drop out of the sky and fall on Snape's head. Preferably followed by another one, just as large and heavy, that would fall on Malfoy's head. After a while I even find myself regretting how many times I scratched notes to Ron on the desk. I scrub at an "I hate P's". Then I move onto "SS is a git".

I think about scratching a rather rude message about Slytherins in general, then abandon the idea seem as I'd have to clean it off anyway.

~*~

After two hours, I decided that accepting the so-called honor of being Head Boy was quite possibly the biggest mistake I ever made. That time I let Mother dress me in pink came a very close second.

I turned the pages of _Quidditch Monthly_ at the appropriate times. Of course, I wasn't really reading it. Instead, I was racking my brain for something scathing to say to Potter - unsuccessfully. Why does my eloquence always desert me when I need it most?

Every few minutes, Potter would look up and open his mouth to say something, then think better of it and go back to scrubbing. It was beginning to get on my nerves.

The seventeenth time he did it, I'd had enough.

"POTTER!" I yelled.

He jumped, startled.

"What?"

"Do you have something to say or not?" I continued in a slightly calmer tone.

He blushed slightly.

"It's nothing."

I raised my eyebrow and sneered at him. I stole that expression from Professor Snape, but I've found that it looks even better on me. Potter proved me right when he sighed and spoke.

"It's just…I thought you'd say something about this morning, that's all."

The cloth twisted between his fingers as he fidgeted. He was nervous. I smiled maliciously, another expression I stole from Snape. That man certainly has his uses.

"Why?" I asked, pretending confusion.

"I don't know!" His eyes flashed dangerously and his voice dripped with sarcasm. "Because what happened this morning is _so _normal."

I inspected my fingernails and tried to come up with a suitable comeback.

"Well, I know I'm irresistible," I said matter-of-factly.

Close enough.

 "Actually, Malfoy, it was a dare," Potter said, rolling his eyes.

I snorted. He went back to scrubbing the desks, leaving me time to realize the implications of that statement.

So, Wonder Boy and his little friends thought it was _funny_ to embarrass a Malfoy? Give them a week, and they'd be sorry they were ever born.

I had an Evil Plan.

~*~

Over the last seven years, I had noticed that Professor Binns had one of two effects on people – he either put them to sleep, or put them in the mood to become homicidal maniacs. I fell into the second category, ergo History of Magic was the perfect time to come up with Evil Plans.

When I said I already had an Evil Plan, I might have spoken a little too soon.

I sneaked a glance at Potter and almost laughed out loud. His hand supported his head as he tried desperately to stay awake. It made his face screw up.

Obviously he fell into the first category.

To my annoyance, it was very hard to come up with an Evil Plan to get revenge on him. I considered carrying on from that morning's scene at breakfast (shuddering in embarrassment at the memory) by pretending that Potter and I were having a secret, passionate affair.

On second thoughts, maybe not, I decided.

In my quest for the perfect Evil Plan, I was discovering that it was not as easy as I had thought. I was filled with new admiration for the likes of Voldemort. They must spend a very long time plotting.

On the other hand, it sort of explained why Dark Lords always get beaten. Assuming, of course, that it takes longer to come up with an Evil Plan than a plan to thwart Evil. No wonder Voldemort had to dedicate all his time to being Evil, while Dumbledore still managed to run a school as well as thwarting Voldemort's his Evil Plans _and _protecting Potter.

The bell rung and I had not yet come up with an Evil Plan. Oh well. I could always fall back on the tried-and-true Kidnap-Victim-And-Use-A-Polyjuice-Potion-To-Find-Out-His-Dirty-Secrets.

Muahaha, I thought to myself. Today, Potter, tomorrow, the world! Or, more accurately, Friday, Potter, next week, the world!

~*~

It seemed the Fates hadn't given up on my doom yet, but it was only Monday.

Hagrid, whom I am positive has been made my teacher as part of a plot to kill my poor innocent self, had decided that it was time for us to study Gobblers. Gobblers are aptly named creatures about the size of one's fist that spend their entire short lives _gobbling_ on whatever poor witch or wizard who got near them.

Of course, being Hagrid, Hagrid thinks they're adorable. Never mind if they spent the entire lesson gobbling _me._

According to Blaise, I spent half an hour running around in circles, squealing and trying to pull gobblers off my behind. According to Pansy, the Dream Team found this utterly hilarious.

I didn't waste time explaining to them that I was merely following Hagrid's advice – claiming the most effective way of getting Gobblers to abandon their relentless pursuit of gobbling was by making lots of noise. 

They wouldn't have believed me anyway.

~*~

The rest of my week progressed amongst a horrible run of bad luck. 

Damn Murphy. Damn him to an eternity burning in Hell. O'Toole can go with him too. Optimist, indeed. I prefer to believe that things can't possibly get any worse.

Ironically, Murphy's 10th Law disagrees, but I damned him to Hell, so that's irrelevant.

After the episode with the Gobblers on Monday, I seemed to experience something horrible every day. On Tuesday evening in Astronomy Class I somehow managed to catapult myself out of the highest window of the Astronomy tower. 

I blamed Crabbe and Goyle and thanked the Gods for Professor Sinistra and her ability to cast satisfactory levitating spells.

On Wednesday in Ancient Runes, I spilt my new black ink all over my favourite robe.

I blamed Crabbe and Goyle and thanked the Gods for cleaning spells.

On Thursday they didn't have coffee at breakfast, which I believe was a major contributing factor to my inability to turn a toad into a toadstool in Transfiguration.

I blamed the house elves and almost thanked the Gods for textbooks, then wondered what on earth I was thinking and blamed Granger for praising textbooks too loudly and spending all her time in the library.

But finally it was Friday, Potions class, and time to set in motion my Evil Plan. Professor Snape announced that we were making concentration potions and to encourage interaction between houses we would each be placed with a partner from the other house. He put Weasley with Millicent Bulstrode, who waved merrily – albeit a _little _maliciously, turning Weasley's face into an astonishing shade of puce. Granger got put with Goyle. She huffed.

Thankfully, the Fates (a.k.a. Professor Snape) had decided to allow me a little luck. Potter was placed with me. Muttering under his breath, he moved his things to the empty desk beside me. I gave him my most charming smile and he glared at me.

Right. Devil Draco and Angel Draco rubbed their hands in anticipation. Evil Plan, step one.

We silently began to prepare. Not the comfortable kind of silence or even awkward silence. No, this was the kind of silence that says "If you say a word I will pound you into the ground."

Ach. Bad mental image.

Potter started to add ingredients to the cauldron and it turned a violent shade of pink. I backed away from it. Pink would clash horribly with my green Slytherin shirt.

I sat down in my chair and put my feet up on the desk.

"Malfoy," he said through gritted teeth. "Help. Now."

"What?" I replied. "Can't you do it? Is there an emergency? Should we panic? Is there trouble at the mill? Is the old abandoned barnyard on fire? What?"

"Quit – quoting – crappy – Muggle – movies – and – do – something – before – I – throw – this – knife – at – your – head," he replied as if speaking to a small child, enunciating every syllable clearly. I marveled at his amazing ability to speak through a jaw clenched so tightly it was about to shatter.

"Oh!" I said, enjoying every minute of it. 

His left eye began to twitch.

I stood and began stirring the potion (which, thankfully, had turned clear by then). Then, very deliberately, I tipped the cauldron and our potion (oh horror of horrors) spilt all over the floor.

"Oops!" I said with exaggerated cheerfulness.

Potter barely restrained himself from throttling me. Professor Snape gave us both a detention after class to clean up the mess.

Devil Draco and Angel Draco did a victory dance.

In my mind I got out my Evil Plan Checklist. Get detention again? Check.

~*~

I. Hate. Draco. Malfoy.

Of course, I already knew that, but I think I've reached a new level of hatred. I'm sure he has ulterior motives for deliberately tipping over the cauldron and getting us detention, but I'm not sure I want to know what they are.

Somehow, I ended up being the only one cleaning. Malfoy insisted that he couldn't clean because his pants would get dirty.

I tell myself I'm only letting him get away with it so I can get out of here.

So I am on my hands and knees cleaning up the mess that Malfoy made for some reason I don't really want to know.

After an hour, I'm finally finished and I turn around to leave.

Out of everything that could have happened, I did not expect to see Malfoy barge at me, yelling a war cry, and attack me with a chair.

"OW!" I yell, ducking and dodging.

Then I fall over in a tumble of arms and chair legs, and hit my head on the stone. The world goes black.

~*~

I was rather pleased with myself.

After I knocked Wonder Boy out with the chair, I dragged him to the Potions storeroom; shoving him in there and whispering a locking charm. I checked the clock.

58 minutes and 14 seconds left.

Oh bugger, I thought then.

I had forgotten the Polyjuice potion.

Quickly, I unlocked the door, stole a jar of Polyjuice from Snape, yanked some hairs from Potter's head and dropped them into the jar. It turned an odd brownish colour. Ew. I drank it all anyway.

Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, OW, OW, OW!

It had better be worth it, I thought.

Thankfully Potter and I were about the same size, so there was no need to steal his clothes, although I did have to swap my Slytherin shirt for his Gryffindor one. I left the storeroom for the second time and locked the door.

I got out the Evil Plan Checklist again. Steal identity of the enemy? Check.

~*~


	2. Harry's Dirty Secrets Part 1

**Title:** I Don't Know Why (02)  
**Author name:** Jetsam Porridge  
**Author email:** jetsamporridge@yahoo.com.au  
**Category:** Romance  
**Sub Category:** Slash  
**Keywords:** Draco Harry dare  
**Rating:** R  
**Spoilers:** SS/PS, CoS, PoA, GoF, OoTP  
**Summary:** Truth or Dare is a completely harmless way of passing the time. Or so Harry Potter thought. Of course, he forgot about his insatiable need to Prove Himself. One simple game will cause a chain of events during which Harry will find out a little about those he thought he knew, and those he knew he didn't. But Harry doesn't yet realize that he will find himself as well…  
**DISCLAIMER:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Any similarities to any other works are purely coincidental and were not intended by the author.

**A/N: **Hello again. This chapter was a while in coming. Sorry about that. *mutters* Stupid assignment. Stupid clarinet exam. Stupid holiday to Queensland…no, wait…

Anyway, some thanks are in order, I believe…

First and foremost, to my beta Michal, who puts the 'zing' in 'amazing'. (Bad joke, I know.) I don't know what I'd do without you! Also to all my RL friends for being patient and listening to my rants!

Lastly, to all the people who reviewed the last chapter – I won't list you all - and all the people who reviewed The Last Time as well. Reviews are what keep me going! *grins* Well, reviews and Ernie's Ben Folds Live CD, which I really will give back…one day…

This chapter and the next one were originally part of the same chapter, but I've had to upload them as two chapters because the original file was too large!! 

I Don't Know Why

Chapter two: Harry's Dirty Secrets (Part 1)

I don't know why I decided to do it in the first place. I had been standing in front of the Gryffindor portrait for the last ten minutes, and was still no closer to getting _inside_ it. 

I had sort of forgotten to find out the password to Gryffindor Tower before putting in place my Evil Plan.

I resisted the impulse to kick the portrait, frowning instead. How was I going to get inside? 

"All right there, dear?" the rather overweight lady in the portrait crooned.

"I'm just fine, thanks," I snapped irritably.

"Are you sure?" she said, her tone absolutely dripping sympathy. "You look a little…frustrated, dear."

I bit back the retort on the tip of my tongue and swore quietly when I heard the clatter of feet coming from the stairs. I had to hide! Imagine what would happen if I, Draco Malfoy, was discovered in front of Gryffindor Tower? 

Then I remembered. I was _Potter_!

By the time I'd actually figured that out, the owner of the feet had reached the top of the staircase.

Granger. Bugger.

She grinned and spoke, and I cringed inwardly.

"Harry! Where have you _been_?"

"Uh…" I said. It was then that it occurred to me that I had no idea how Wonder Boy talks. The only things he'd ever said to me that I remembered were all along the lines of "sod off".

 "Never mind," she said at last, probably deciding to ignore the fact I wasn't answering, or maybe just used to this kind of response from Potter. "You won't _believe_ what I've just found out! I was in the library-"

"Really," I muttered sarcastically.

Granger blinked in surprise, and then continued. Obviously whatever she'd found out was more important than me not sounding like _Harry_. She grabbed my arm and began to drag me towards the portrait. I must have been out of my mind, because the next moment I found myself inside Gryffindor Tower for the first (and probably last) time in my life, with Hermione Granger, a Mudblood, _clinging_ to my _arm_. What was I _doing_?

Revenge, Draco, I reminded myself. Focus.

Right. Revenge.

The first thing I did once inside the Gryffindor common room was wonder what kind of man Godric Gryffindor had been to choose red and gold as his house colours. The whole room was garishly decorated in them and the effect was nothing short of awful.

Granger was still prattling on about her 'amazing discovery'.

"And so, it actually seems that the secondary use of boomslang skin is…" she said in a loud whisper. I tried not to roll my eyes. 

"Harry!" the Weasel interrupted with a shout. I almost thanked him but…well, didn't. After all, it was only the Weasel, and it's _so_ uncivilized to shout. "Where have you been? Come and play Exploding Snap!"

If that was how Gryffindors spent their free time, it's no wonder Potter turned out the way he did.

I resisted the urge to raise an eyebrow and drifted in the direction of Weasley's hair. He was sitting in front of the fire, surrounded by the other Gryffindor seventh years – Thomas, that idiot Longbottom and the Irish boy, Finnman or whatever his name was. I sat down next to Thomas, reasoning that he was probably the least repulsive of them. 

"So Harry," he said as we started to play. "How was detention?"

"Oh," I said. "It was okay."

"Anything… interesting happen?" Finlayson asked with a wink.

I frowned.

"What?"

He wiggled his eyebrows.

"You _know_," he said conspiratorially. "Seem as you were _all alone_ down there with _Malfoy_."

Completely confused, I tried to think of what Potter would say.

"Um," I began. "So?"

Note to self, I thought. Next time I tried to carry out an Evil Plan, I would do some background research first. Surely Irish Boy wasn't saying what I thought he was saying…but evidently so, seem as at that point the Weasel interrupted.

"Ew, Seamus," he said, looking absolutely disgusted. "Please never say that again. I mean…_Malfoy_. Any guy but him. That's just… _ew_."

"Hey!" I exclaimed. "I am very good-looking!

I cut myself off, remembering too late that I wasn't me, and the Gryffindorks would probably find it rather odd if they thought Potter was referring to me in the first person. 

Oops. 

The Weasel and Irish Boy gave me decidedly odd looks.

"I…uh…that is…I mean…_but_ I would never do _anything_ with _Malfoy_."

I shuddered artfully and my inner self applauded. Nice save, Draco, I congratulated myself.

"Harry," the Weasel said. "That makes me very, very, happy. But…uh…well, most _girls_ think Malfoy is…uh…_nice-looking_…right, Ginny?" 

A nearby redhead – obviously a Weasley, since her robes had a large hole in one sleeve - nodded.

"Gorgeous, but still a prat," she said. I scoffed silently. Prat? I am refined and aristocratic, thank you very much.

"So…do you actually…you know…well, do you think he's good looking too?" the Weasel continued. 

I blinked.

I blinked again.

Surely they couldn't be saying what I thought they were. _Harry Potter_? _Gay_?

No chance in hell! Hadn't he just been going out with that Hufflepuff girl? As far as I knew, Wonder Boy most certainly wasn't _gay_.

But then…why had he broken it off with her? And why would the Weasel be asking him if he thought I was attractive?

Well, besides the obvious fact that I _was_ attractive, a fact which both men and women had surely noticed.

My brain raced to try and process this new information. _Gay. Harry Potter._ God, the gossip mill would go into overdrive if it ever got out…

If it ever got out…

Ever got out…

How deliciously evil that would be, I thought wistfully, imagining a world where the Boy Who Lived was effectively off the market – surely making me the Number One Eligible Bachelor.

What better plan could there be?

"Harry?" the Weasel prompted. "Do you?"

Unless…

Imagine, I thought, if the Weasel thought Potter liked _me_!

Perhaps, I thought, that would be even _more_ evil!

"Harry?" By now, my silence was starting to worry him

Choose, Draco.

"…Yeah, kind of, I guess…" I said quietly, affecting bashfulness while my mind raced to predict the possible outcomes of what I was doing.

Weasel blinked.

"Oh."

Irish Boy blinked.

"WOOOOOOO!" he yelled suddenly. "HARRY LIKES-"

Granger clapped her hand over his mouth before he could say "Malfoy".

"Seamus!" she hissed. "Shut _up_!"

Angel and Devil Draco, in perfect agreement once again, did another victory dance. Another note to self, I thought. Add to Evil Checklist 'Embarrass enemy by spreading false information.'

I quickly checked my watch and realized that I had exactly four minutes before I would turn back into myself.

Time to leave, then.

I stood up quickly.

"I've just remembered, I…uh…forgot my…uh, pen! I'll just go get it…"

And with that slightly dodgy excuse, I made a hasty exit from Gryffindor Tower. As I left, I heard Weasel's voice floating after me.

"He'll just have to forfeit his turn at Exploding Snap, then. Neville, want a game?"

~*~

I ran all the way to the dungeons, stopping for a rest before entering the room so I wouldn't appear too out of breath. I pulled out my wand and pushed open the door.

Potter had evidently gotten himself out of the storeroom, since he was standing in the middle of the room with his wand pointed at my heart.

"_Expelliarmus!_" he shouted. My wand flew out of my hand and straight through the storeroom's open door. 

Oh, crap, I thought.

"Now, Malfoy," he said, quiet but obviously a bit…unhappy with me. "Could you possibly explain why I just woke up in the_ locked _storeroom with a splitting headache, my _t-shirt_ missing and _this_-"

He held up my Slytherin shirt and tossed it at my feet.

-"On the floor with you nowhere in sight?"

I opened my mouth and closed it again.

"No?" he asked, raising his eyebrows. Obviously he wasn't as suave as me and couldn't raise one eyebrow by itself.

"Well….um…"

I gave up on that, figuring it was highly unlikely I was going to be able to talk my way of this one.

Unless…

"Can you, Potter," I said calmly, "explain why your little Gryffindor friends think you're…how shall I put this…_gay_?"

He gaped.

"What?"

"Well," I continued, examining my fingernails. "I was just speaking to them. Seems to me they're rather certain you…uh, _fly that side of the Quidditch pitch_."

"Huh?"

So far, so good.

"Unfortunately, they now also believe you fancy…me."

Potter dropped his wand.

In a series of very fast movements, which I was quite proud of upon later reflection, I dived forward, grabbed it, leapt up and pointed it at him.

"And the tables are turned," I said dryly and added an Evil Laugh as an afterthought. 

Potter spluttered.

"Why?" he managed.

"Why what, Potter?" I said innocently.

He shook his head as if to clear it.

"I mean…_how_…_what_?"

"Well, you see, I took a leaf out of…um…_someone else's_ book and got detention on purpose, knocked you out with a chair, polyjuiced myself into you, stole your shirt, went to Gryffindor tower, found out all your Dirty Secrets and spread false information about you. Quite good, I thought."

I paused for effect.

"Oh, and before I _forget_, _obliviate!_"

Pun intended.

I stalked gracefully from the room.

~*~


	3. Harry's Dirty Secrets Part 2

**Title:** I Don't Know Why (02)  
**Author name:** Jetsam Porridge  
**Author email:** jetsamporridge@yahoo.com.au  
**Category:** Romance  
**Sub Category:** Slash  
**Keywords:** Draco Harry dare  
**Rating:** R  
**Spoilers:** SS/PS, CoS, PoA, GoF, OoTP  
**Summary:** Truth or Dare is a completely harmless way of passing the time. Or so Harry Potter thought. Of course, he forgot about his insatiable need to Prove Himself. One simple game will cause a chain of events during which Harry will find out a little about those he thought he knew, and those he knew he didn't. But Harry doesn't yet realize that he will find himself as well…  
**DISCLAIMER:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Any similarities to any other works are purely coincidental and were not intended by the author.

**A/N: **Part two of chapter two! Don't know why chapter one worked properly…

I Don't Know Why

Chapter two: Harry's Dirty Secrets (Part 2)

It's a few minutes before I can coerce my feet into moving. They seem to have temporarily glued themselves to the dungeon floor. I'm quite certain I just saw Draco Malfoy stalk gracefully from the room. I'm sure he had a very good reason to do that, since I've never known him to make a Grand Exit without a Dramatic Prelude.

Of course, this reasoning doesn't help to fill the gaping hole in my memory.

I wonder briefly where my wand is and see the end of it poking out from behind the storeroom door. My feet finally unstick themselves enough for me to walk over and pick it up, only then realizing that it's not _my_ wand.

He must have taken mine by mistake, I thought. I'll have to go find him and get mine back. Oh joy, oh happiness. An evening trip to the Slytherin dungeons.

I make my way out of the dungeon and turn to head in the direction of the Slytherin rooms. I'm so caught up in my thoughts that I don't see Hermione coming, which means I get an awful shock when she grabs me by the arm.

"Did you find your pen?"

I feel my face screw up into a confused frown.

"What?"

"Your pen," she says patiently. "You said you forgot it?"

"When did I say that?"

"Just then! Everyone was talking in the common room, then you got up and said you'd forgotten your pen, and you left!"

"I did?" 

"Yes! Don't you _remember_? Honestly, Harry!"

"No…" I'm slowly becoming more and more confused. "I don't remember at all…the only things I remember are…well, going to detention and then leaving detention. I don't remember anything in between."

"What do you mean?" she says sharply.

"I mean…I've just got this…blank spot in my memory. Up until Malfoy left."

"Really?" She's frowning now.

"Yeah…oh well, never mind. Listen, I think Malfoy mixed our wands up. I'm going to go get mine back, alright?"

"I'll go with you," she says firmly.

"I'm sure I'll be fine," I reply.

She frowns again.

"Alright," she finally says, albeit a little reluctantly.

"See you later, Hermione."

I continue on towards the Slytherin rooms.

"But Harry…" her voice floats after me and I turn around.

"Be careful!"

~*~

I reach the wall where I know the door to the Slytherin common room is located. I'm not sure where exactly it is, so I settle for a spot somewhere near the middle and bang on it.

"Hello?" I yell.

Nothing happens.

"I want to talk to Malfoy!"

After a minute, a portion of the wall slides open, revealing a more than slightly annoyed Pansy Parkinson.

She screws up her face, making her look even more like a pug than she usually does.

"Sod off, Potter," she says and the wall starts to slide shut again.

"Wait!" I shout.

The 'door' slides back open again and Pansy looks even more annoyed.

"What?" 

"I need to speak to Malfoy."

"Well, he doesn't _need _to speak with you, Potter, so you can just fuck off."

"Creative, aren't you?" I mutter.

"What did you say?" she says sharply.

"I'll tell you if you let me speak to Malfoy?" I know it probably won't work, but I try anyway.

"Fuck off, Potter."

There's that creativity again. Time to beg.

"Please," I say through gritted teeth. "It's very important."

"Bad luck. You can't see Draco."

"Who can't see me?" a drawling voice comes from inside the room. Of course, I'm in no doubt as to whom it belongs to

Malfoy appears in the doorway, cool and unruffled as always.

"Oh, it's you," he says, his face wrinkling unpleasantly.

"Geez, don't bowl me over with enthusiasm, Malfoy," I say sarcastically.

"What do you want?" he sneers.

"To talk to you."

"So, talk. I haven't got all day."

"Without _her_, Malfoy," I say, pointing at Pansy. I can feel myself getting angrier.

He raises his eyebrows. "Fine," he says dispassionately. "Pansy, piss off."

She huffs, insulted, and disappears inside the common room. Malfoy steps out of the doorway and into the corridor, the door sliding shut behind him.

"What?" he says, crossing his arms and not sounding the least bit interested. I decide to be blunt since I've often been told that I have no talent for beating around the bush.

"Where's my wand?"

"What?"

"My wand," I say patiently, holding up his. "This isn't mine, so I'm assuming it's yours. I think you have mine." 

"Oh," he says, sounding bored. "Is that all? Well, here it is."

He pulls it out of his pocket. I move forward to grab it and he jerks it out of my reach.

"Give me mine, Potter, and I'll give you yours."

"Fine," I say through gritted teeth, holding out his wand. He takes it and tosses mine down the corridor.

"Run along, now, Potter," he says sweetly and turns to head back through the door. I begin to walk away, but a thought suddenly flashes across my mind.

Up until Malfoy left…

"Malfoy," I begin cautiously.

"What?" he says. I can tell he's getting annoyed.

I hesitate.

"Nothing, don't worry about it."

He snorts exasperatedly and crosses his arms.

"What, Potter?"

"_Nothing_!"

I walk away from him, but then stop. Is it worth asking just in case?

Might as well.

"Did you do _obliviate_ on me?"

"Sorry?" he says, uncrossing his arms.

"You heard me."

"I don't know what you're talking about," he says, plastering innocence all over his face and layering it onto his voice. 

And there's the proof. It's so obvious I'm almost sure he wants me to think he _did_ do it.

"Why?"

He sneers.

"You really want to know?" he asks, loading on the sarcasm. "I got detention on purpose, knocked you out with a chair, polyjuiced myself into you, stole your shirt, went to Gryffindor tower, found out all your Dirty Secrets and spread false information about you. Happy?" 

My mouth moves uselessly for a moment.

"I don't believe you," I manage. He steps towards the now-hidden door to the Slytherin rooms.

"Your loss," he says. "You asked; I told you. It's your fault if you don't believe me."

With that, he touches a hand to the wall. The door slides open and he disappears inside without a second glance.

After a moment, I begin to head back towards Gryffindor Tower. I try not to think about his oh-so-sarcastic statement, which in fact seems to make enough sense that it might even be true.

~*~

Well, that was interesting, I thought. Obviously my Evil Plan was more than slightly flawed. I suppose I could have performed a better _obliviate_ spell, thus preventing Potter from suspecting anything. Or at least, that would have been the best-case scenario.

On the other hand, knowing my luck, Potter probably would have suspected something anyway. 

I flung myself into my favourite chair – a dark green armchair that perfectly matches my Slytherin t-shirt - and rack my brain for the next logical step. 

What did I have to work with? I drew up a list in my mind.

1. Apparently, Potter likes boys.

2. Potter's friends think he likes me.

3. Potter's friends will tease him about me.

Hmm, I thought. Difficult.

But after a minute, I was struck with a brilliant idea.

Why not give them something to tease him about?

I was, after all, outrageously sexy, and if Potter was gay he should find me irresistible. I grinned to myself. I would lead him a wonderful dance, and then crush him like an… easily crushable thing.

My new Evil Plan? Why, to seduce Harry Potter. Secretly, of course. I didn't want my impeccable reputation sullied.

And if some people thought it's already sullied… well, they were just wrong, weren't they?

~*~


	4. The Watching

Title: I Don't Know Why (03/?)  
Author name: Jetsam Porridge  
Author email: jetsamporridge@yahoo.com.au  
Category: Romance  
Sub Category: Slash  
Keywords: Draco Harry dare  
Rating: R  
Spoilers: SS/PS, CoS, PoA, GoF, OoTP  
Summary: Truth or Dare is a completely harmless way of passing the time. Or so Harry Potter thought. Of course, he forgot about his insatiable need to Prove Himself. One simple game will cause a chain of events during which Harry will find out a little about those he thought he knew, and those he knew he didn't. But Harry doesn't yet realize that he will find himself as well…  
DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Any similarities to any other works are purely coincidental and were not intended by the author.  
Author notes: I know, I know. It's taken forever and a day. Apologies, all.

Thanks to reviewers and my new beta, who I don't know if I can name, but she knows who she is, and thanks. :)

For Jo, who harasses wonderfully, and Michal, who I miss lots and lots.

I Don't Know Why

**Chapter three: The Watching**

"I don't know why!" Dream-Harry screams at Dream-Ron and the entire dream fades to black.

I roll over and I'am mystified when my body seems to fall off my bed and hit the floor. I open my eyes a little and after a moment recognize that the strange structure in front of me is the common room table.

I groan when I realize that I must have fallen asleep on the couch. Pieces of parchment are hanging over the edge of the table and I assume they're part of my Transfiguration homework that is as of yet unfinished.

I sit up and immediately regret it. The world goes an odd shade of white and my head spins crazily for a moment.

When it clears, I try and remember what I had been dreaming about. But my Transfiguration homework seems to be magnetically attracting me. 

God, I'm turning into Hermione.

And speaking of which, she comes dashing down the stairs, stopping short when she sees me.

"Harry!" she says. "What are you doing up so early?"

I fling myself into the couch I'd fallen asleep on, muttering something vague about homework.

"You didn't fall asleep down here again, did you, Harry?" She sounds faintly exasperated, and more than a little worried. She moves from the staircase to stand in front of me.

"You look like you haven't slept in weeks!" Her hands are on her hips now. Here we go.

"Harry, I'm really worried-"

"Don't be," I interrupt.

"But you haven't slept properly for days!" she cries.

"And how exactly do you know that?" I fling at her.

"Ron told me!" she shoots back.

"Look, it doesn't matter," I say tiredly. "Let's just say I'm a troubled teenager and leave it at that so I can finish my homework."

Homework, the golden word, has been said. Hermione sighs and sits next to me.

"Want help?" she asks.

Game, set, match, Harry Potter.

~*~

An hour and a half later, my homework is finished and I' am sitting at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall. My breakfast - scrambled eggs – doesn't seem to hold the same appeal as it usually does. I notice Hermione frowning at me and reluctantly shove some of it into my mouth, chewing mechanically.

Not for the first time this morning, the hair on the back of my neck prickles and I have the odd sensation that I a'm being watched. I glance around the room butand there doesn't seem to be anything wrong.

I turn back to my scrambled eggs, but the feeling is still there.

"What is it, Harry?" Hermione asks.

"Nothing," I reply. It's probably her watching me anyway.

But I can't resist looking around the room again and it's then that I notice himit. 

He'sis eyes – Malfoy's eyes - are watching me. 

Startled, I look away, but from then on I can't help looking at him over and over again.

And every time I look, he's still watching me.

~*~

It's amazing how much you can unsettle someone just by watching them. 

It' had been a week since what I have come to refer to as The Polyjuice Incident. Surprisingly, Potter hadn't reacted too badly. He had limited himself to giving me odd looks and the occasional glare.

But that was before I started stage one of The Plan – the watching. Or maybe the Polyjuice incident was stage one. So it was really stage one of The New and Revised Edition of The Plan.

Once Potter noticed me watching him, he couldn't _stop_ noticing. He couldn't stop looking at me, couldn't stop checking if I was still watching. He couldn't concentrate on anything. and Oonce, to my absolute delight, he tried to rest his head on his hand in an attempt to make his glances at me less obvious. 

He missed. And put his elbow in the butter dish.

If I hadn't been so busy gloating about how clever and evil I was, I would have been unsettled myself. I never thought I'd find it disconcerting to have someone keep looking at me. Maybe it was because I knew he wasn't admiring my unearthly beauty.

Breakfast was over soon - too soon - and before I knew it we were on our way to Care of Magical Creatures. I've always been taught that Malfoys are never afraid, but there's something quite terrifying about Hagrid. It might have something to do with his peculiar soft spot for dangerous creatures.

And, of course, the fact that he's eight feet tall doesn't help much.

But today, Care of Magical Creatures would be a bit more interesting than usual. My Evil Plan to seduce Potter made any lesson I shared with him more fun. You see, watching people is a highly underrated Evil Plan. It's actually a very efficient way of scaring them.

We proceeded across the grass to the spot outside Hagrid's cabin where class usually took place, only to find it occupied by several very strange looking animals. To me, they looked like chickens with upside-down Butterbeer bottles for legs, but Blaise told me they were birds bred specifically to run very fast. Apparently, some wizards in China raced them and what I thought looked like inverted bottles were actually heavily developed, overly large thigh muscles.

"Chickens on steroids," I said.

Blaise gave me a dirty look. "Wizards don't _do_ steroids."

"But that doesn't mean their chickens can't," I pointed out.

She didn't bother to reply. to that one.

At that point, Hagrid came out of his cabin carrying a strange metal stick. It looked familiar, a bit like those noise-sticks in Muggle cowboy movies that made people die.

I took a few steps backwards.

"Righ' then," he began in that horrible accent that just sent shivers up and down my spine. It was so _uncivilized_. "What I got 'ere are what's known as racing birds. Anyone know why?"

Granger's hand shot up so fast it's amazing she didn't dislocate her shoulder. Beside me, Blaise's hand rose lazily into the air but, predictably, Hagrid pointed to Granger.

" 'Ermione?" he said.

"Racing birds are aptly-named creatures that are both bred and trained to have extremely strong leg muscles, allowing them to run unusually fast. Some Chinese wizards race them in a manner similar to that of Muggle horse racing."

Has anyone lost their textbook? Check Granger's stomach.

"Righ' you are, 'Ermione," said Hagrid, beaming. "Ten points to Gryffindor."

As one, the other Slytherins and I directed our trademark Dark Glare at her. 

Hagrid was talking again then, saying something about us racing and something called a shotgun. It was boring. I decided that it would be more worthwhile to concentrate on my Evil Plan than to listen, so I began watching Potter again.

It didn't take him as long to realize this time. Within minutes he had recommenced glancing at me every thirty seconds or so to see if I was still watching. It was obvious that his friends were becoming more and more annoyed with him.

"Harry!" Granger snapped after a while. "What's _wrong_ with you?"

"What?" he blurted, startled.

She huffed and the Weasel directed a shake of the head at Potter, complete with his trademark Weasley Confused Expression.

And so the lesson continued. I highly doubt Potter contributed much to the races. And as for me? I enjoyed it immensely.

~*~

Throughout the rest of the week, I stared at Potter. In classes, at mealtimes and even in the hallways - whenever I saw him, I would stare at him.

People noticed, of course. There were rumours flying between the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw dormitories, and the Gryffindors rallied around Potter and directed Withering Looks at me whenever they saw me staring.

The Slytherins asked me quite early on what I was doing, but I just told them I was doing what Father told me to. It shut them up quite effectively, since that was what I'm  usually doing what Father's told me to.did anyway.

The Golden Boy himself was not dealing with it all that well. He was completely paranoid; keeping to the walls when walking down corridors, frantically looking around him all the time...

I _loved_ it.

~*~

"All right, Harry?" Ron asks around a mouthful of porridge.

"What?" I say, frowning. "Oh. Right. Yeah, I'm fine."

Which, of course, is a total lie. Ron's not fooled, but he changes the subject anyway, asking Seamus if he's finished his Potions essay yet.

My head drops onto my hand and I slump in my seat, lost in thought. What kind of school has breakfast this early anyway? It's 8am! Who even wants to be awake at this hour?

Never mind that breakfast has always been at 8am.

"You look tired, Harry," Hermione says.

"I haven't been sleeping well," I reply.

Immediately her eyebrows draw together in a concerned frown.

"Dreams?" she asks, urgency creeping into her tone.

_Blacknight coldcold outside Ron Hermione me walking trees talking Potions homework and watching someone watching look around no one there keep walking talking Hermione library just Ron me walking talking Quidditch coldcold wind darksky scary someone watching watching always watching then silvereyes behind trees in sky everywhere scared then Ron angry yelling screaming don't know why eyes still there and hair now white hair no blond it's him Ron more angry now help help me he comes to me touches arm then gone Ron yells why I DON'T KNOW WHY..._

"No," I mutter.

I look over at the Slytherin table and there he is - watching, always watching. It's unnerving. 

"Just ignore it, Harry," Hermione says. "He's just trying to get a rise out of you."

"He watches me all the time, Hermione," I snap. "It's starting to get a tiny little bit annoying!"

"He's _trying _to annoy you," she explains patiently.

"I _know_," I say, starting to get angry. "I'm not _stupid!_ Stop treating me like I am!"

"Well you're being completely childish about this whole thing!" she says, rolling her eyes.

"I am _not_ being childish!" I say, but it comes out like a whine and I cringe.

Hermione rolls her eyes again and gets up.

''Class starts in five minutes," she warns, and makes a beeline for the door.

"Library?" Ron asks, having missed most of our argument.

"No," I say, getting up. "Potions. Come on."

~*~

Potter was nearing breaking point.

Devil Draco cackled with glee until Angel Draco beat him over the head and told him to keep the noise down, it wasn't that exciting.

Potions class was all the more fun now, since not only was I passing easily and making all the other students awfully jealous, but I was annoying the hell out of Wonder Boy too. I didn't watch him constantly – that would have interfered with my work – but I watched him most of the time. Enough to make him _very_ uncomfortable.

He was almost feverish in the way he chopped his ingredients – they were horribly unevenly sliced, and even as I watched, his knife slipped and sliced along his finger. He swore under his breath and glanced up at me.

I smirked innocently – it is possible, despite what most think – and turned back to my own potion. I heard the Mudblood's voice rising in concern and Potter's assuring her that he was perfectly fine, thank you very much, and a small cut did not warrant a trip to Pomfrey.

I grinned. This was _so _much fun.

Now that he had injured himself, Potter was even more unsettled. He was watching me almost as much as I had been watching him, and several times the other two members of his little trio had to hit him to get his attention back.

Snape began stalking up and down the aisles, glaring at Gryffindors and smirking at Slytherins. Potter, however, was entirely focused on what I was doing, and so was standing with his hand frozen next to the rim of his cauldron, seemingly unaware that the jug he was holding was leaking essence of lavender onto his table. Snape stopped in front of him.

"Potter," he said silkily.

Potter jumped about a foot in the air and in the process somehow managed to not only drop his now empty jug to the floor, where it shattered, but also to knock over his cauldron. It hit the floor with a bang and the entire contents spilt all over the floor.

"Lucky it's a cleaning potion," Finnegan murmured to another Gryffindor boy – Thomas, I think it was.

"_Evanesco,_" Snape said lazily, then whirled around to glare at Potter. "Are you quite finished ogling my students, Potter?"

Potter blushed violently, but didn't appear capable of speech.

"Twenty points from Gryffindor for your incompetence. Be thankful that I chose today to have you make cleaning potions, _Potter,_" he spat the name out. "Otherwise you would be serving yet another detention."

He whirled again, glared at the rest of us and told us to get back to work.

I looked around at Potter again. He shot me a death glare and I smirked back at him. Granger shook his arm.

"Harry!" she cried. "He's not worth it!"

"You're right," he said loudly, his voice shaking with anger. "He's not."

And with that horribly insulting insult, he turned away.

I smirked again.

Victory shall surely be mine, I thought to myself.

~*~

I think I might be going insane.

It's bad enough that Malfoy watches me whenever he's anywhere near me. That alone would be enough to drive anyone to madness. 

But not only that; he's invaded my brain as well. 

I can't stop worrying about it, wondering what his motives are, wondering _why_ he's doing this. Hermione keeps telling me that I'm always off in another world these days. I keep telling her it's not my fault, and although I never say that it's Malfoy's, I think she knows anyway.

Of course, it's Malfoy's fault that it's 3 o'clock in the morning and I can't sleep, so I'm freezing my arse off sitting on the roof of Gryffindor Tower.

It's also Malfoy's fault that I've spent the last hour thinking about him, and before that spent two hours dreaming about him, and before that spent another two hours thinking about him.

I look up at the sky, shivering, and wonder if I'll ever be the same again.

~*~


	5. A Touch of Madness

**Title:** I Don't Know Why (04)  
**Author name:** Jetsam Porridge  
**Author email:**  
**Category:** Romance  
**Sub Category: **Slash  
**Keywords: **Draco Harry dare  
**Rating: **R  
**Spoilers: **SS/PS, CoS, PoA, GoF, OoTP  
**Summary: **Truth or Dare is a completely harmless way of passing the time. Or so Harry Potter thought. Of course, he forgot about his insatiable need to Prove Himself. One simple game will cause a chain of events during which Harry will find out a little about those he thought he knew, and those he knew he didn't. But Harry doesn't yet realize that he will find himself as well…  
**DISCLAIMER: **This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Any similarities to any other works are purely coincidental and were not intended by the author.  
**Author notes: **And so we meet again, dear readers!

First things first. Yes, Blaise is a girl and yes, I am aware that she should be a boy. Bad luck. She's a girl here. XP

Blatant self-pimpage: check out my new chapterfic, Bitter!

**Summary: **_Four years after the final battle, Voldemort and countless others are dead. Harry Potter has been missing since the battle, and is believed to be dead by almost everyone in the wizarding world. But in Muggle England, Harry is desperately trying to escape his past, and the past isn't going to let him go..._

_[Eventual H/D slash]_

Thanks to Mille, beta extraordinaire.

For Michal, because I miss you.

**I Don't Know Why**

**Chapter 4: A Touch of Madness**

3:27am, the clock's glowing hands showed. My head dropped back to the pillow.

3:28am. 3:29am. 3:30am.

The sound of Crabbe's snores filtered through the curtains on my four-poster, occasionally punctuated with loud wheezes from Goyle's direction. Six years and I still hadn't adjusted to the noise. Despite going to bed before them, they somehow always manage to wake me up at the most ridiculous times during the night.

3:33am.

I grabbed a pillow and covered my head with it, hoping to block the noise out. My reward? A few seconds of silence while Crabbe rolled over, only to start snoring again. I threw the pillow back onto the bed next to me, then as an afterthought, picked it up again, yanked open the curtains and threw it at Crabbe's head.

3:34am and still the snoring and wheezing, now accompanied by Nott's sleep-talking.

"Not the hamsters," Nott murmured. "Please, not the hamsters. They're all small and fluffy, Daddy..."

I really didn't want to know what he was dreaming about.

3.35am. "Ugh, fluffy..."

I flopped onto my front.

3.36am. "Please, Daddy..."

Back onto my side.

3:36am. 3:37am. 3:38am. "I'll do anything, Daddy, just make the hamsters go away..."

With a frustrated grunt, I sat up and swung my legs over the side of the bed. My head dropped into my hands.

I bet _Potter's_ sleeping well, I thought angrily. Bet he's fast asleep, dreaming of candy and lollipops and saving the world for the six billionth time.

I stood up, the stone floors of the dungeon cold beneath my feet. Pulling my cloak on over my pyjamas, I left, slamming the door after me, knowing that only a large brick falling on their heads would wake my dorm mates at this time of night.

Actually, on second thoughts, it would probably take all of Hogwarts collapsing on their heads.

The tiles on the roof of Gryffindor tower are surprisingly warm at night. I'd noticed this the third time I'd climbed out here at some unearthly hour, unable to sleep. It must be at least the fifth night in a row I'd done this.

It doesn't help much but it's nice to sit out here and look at the stars.

For the six billionth time, my thoughts turn to Malfoy. He's gotten himself well and truly imbedded into my conscious and even my subconscious with his stupid staring tricks. I turn it over and over in my mind, looking at it from every angle, but there's never any resolution. I know he's just trying to annoy me. But something tells me there's more to it than that and my subconscious, at least, won't stop trying to figure out what that is.

As if my thoughts performed an _accio_charm on him, Malfoy's blonde head bobs out of the doorway into the courtyard below me. I sit up straighter and watch as he walks towards the opposite corridor, pausing just before going inside.

Suspicious behaviour. What's he doing up at this time of night? Why isn't he asleep? He should be asleep. He's never out this late. He's always goes back to his dorm before 9 o'clock, unless he has work due the next day, but even then he's gone by 11...

Malfoy's head, and the rest of his cloaked body, disappear around the corner and I'm left staring at the spot where he'd been.

The somewhat odd fact that I know what time he goes to bed never even occurs to me until much later.

The great hall buzzed with breakfast noises far too loud for my liking. Pansy's hand flutters delicately above my arm.

"What's wrong, Draco?" she simpered.

I was silent for a moment while my brain puzzled over the question.

"Coffee," I decided eventually. "I need coffee."

Leaning forward, I grabbed the pot and poured its entire contents into my mouth, gulping it down like it was some kind of liquid oxygen. I dropped it back onto the table and slumped down in my chair to wait for the caffeine to work its magic.

The sound of Blaise's quiet laughter floated into my sleep-deprived brain and I opened one eye, frowning quizzically at her. She pointed over to the Gryffindor table.

"Look," she said gleefully.

I opened the other eye and my gaze found Potter, slumped in his chair. Too tired to even remember The Plan, I watched curiously as Hermione pressed a steaming mug into his hands and held her hand to his forehead, the familiar worry lines creasing her forehead.

Playing mother again. Honestly.

Potter's eyes lifted slightly and met mine. I didn't move, just met him stare for stare. His mouth twisted in a scowl and his eyes dropped.

Devil Draco made a half-hearted attempt to cheer, and sunk back into abject, tired misery.

Two hours later, I was regretting drinking so much coffee. It felt like every nerve in my body was on fire. I had fidgeted all through charms, earning myself a reprimand from Professor Flick more than once, with thoughts flying around my head like bees on those funny Muggle pills that made everything really fast.

Not that I'd tried them.

With all that caffeine in my system, Transfiguration wasn't as fascinating as it usually was. I found myself itching to be outside, maybe playing Quidditch – against Potter, of course; no one made the game more thrilling. Watching his every move, flying so fast that I would always feel like I was about to fall off. He was so graceful on a broomstick; I'd never seen anyone fly like he did...

Stop.

With the thought of Potter, my mind naturally turned to The Plan. I'd been neglecting it that day. Initially, it had been because just about the only thought in my head was that I was _tired_, and then it had because I was too hyped up to think about _anything_ for more than a second.

A glance at Potter revealed that he was watching me curiously.

My heart went into overdrive.

The sound of McGonagall's voice, lecturing us yet again on the dos and don'ts of animal transfiguration, barely even filters into my brain. Not enough caffeine. Not enough coffee at breakfast. I rest my head on one hand and glace over at Malfoy.

Just to make sure he's not watching.

Of course that's why I'm watching himWhy else would I?

For once, and I'm surprised to see it, he's not looking at me at all. He's not even looking in my direction. The movements of his hands draw my eyes and I notice he's fiddling with his quill, fingers moving fast and agitated. I frown slightly.

That's not like him. Malfoy _never _fidgets. He's always calm and collected; a Malfoy thing, Ron says sometimes. It's unsettling too, that he never seems to be affected by anything.

He shifts in his seat, dropping the quill onto the desk and pulling a small piece of parchment out of his pocket. He begins to fold it, over and over until it's too small to fold anymore, then unfolding it again. He makes shapes; a tiny paper crane, a miniature boat.

I smile slightly. I never would have picked Malfoy as one for origami.

After a while he throws that onto the desk too and looks around for something else to fiddle with. Soon the quill is back in his hands, one end tapping irregularly on the parchment in front of him.

Suddenly the drone of McGonagall's voice is gone and my eyes snap back to the front guiltily.

But it's Malfoy she's looking at, and it's Malfoy her stern warning is directed to.

"Mr Malfoy," she says. "If you _don't _mind."

Malfoy mumbles a distracted apology and the quill drops back onto the desk. I grin again. His weird behaviour was amusing, if nothing else, and a lot more interesting than McGonagall's lecture.

For a while he's still, lost in whatever thoughts are going through that twisted brain. He looks out the window, muscles suddenly tensing. He shifts, eyes flicking to me, and I try desperately to keep the grin from my face. His eyes narrow slightly and look away.

This time I can't keep the grin from my face. See how much you like getting watched, Malfoy.

I'm turning the tables.

When the bell rang, I was out of there as fast as I could, almost running to get as far away from Potter as I possibly could.

The bastard was using my own tricks against me.

Time to up the ante. I couldn't let Potter win. Time to implement stage two of the New and Revised Edition of The Plan.

Only problem was, I hadn't thought of it yet. Which seemed to be the weak point in most of my plans. The not having planned it part.

The door to the Slytherin dungeons was in front of me. I gave the password and went straight through to my room, flopping down on my bed.

Stage two. Stage Two.

Ideas flitted in and out of my head, but none of them were remotely close to what I wanted. Something devious and sneaky. Something to throw Potter off balance; put him back on the defensive.

The door opened and I rolled over to yell at whoever it was to go away.

"Shut up, Goyle!" Crabbe yelled. Goyle shook with laughter.

"Go on then, share the joke," I snapped.

"There's no joke!" Crabbe glared daggers at me.

I raised an eyebrow at Goyle, waiting impatiently until he calmed down enough to speak.

"Crabbe copped a feel of _Pansy_!"

And he collapsed into laughter again. I smirked.

"Now that's _funny_," I drawled.

Words failing him as usual, Crabbe glared at me and stormed from the room. Goyle, still laughing, followed him out. I smirked again, picturing the scene.

Copping a feel.

Touching.

Suddenly stage two was right in front of me. Because if watching unsettled Potter, touching him would be even more effective.

I couldn't let Potter beat me at this game.

That's what it had always been about, anyway.

Professor Snape was quite possibly the easiest person to manipulate I'd ever come across. Potions class, I'd decided, was the perfect place to begin stage two. All I would have to do was coerce Snape into pairing Potter and I together.

So at the start of the lesson, I asked if we could pick partners. It was easy to decipher the reprimand behind Snape's cool gaze on me. _You should know better,_ the black eyes said.

But my face was perfectly innocent, and he scowled.

"No, Mr. Malfoy," he snapped. "I will be assigning you your partners."

He paused sinuously and I tensed slightly.

"You may work with Mr. Potter."

Relief flooded through me, and I remember to grimace just in time. I glowered up at Snape; _you're so unfair_. Devil Draco commended my acting skills while Angel Draco simply rolled his eyes.

Potter let out an angry sigh, stormed over and dumped his things on the desk next to me.

"Good one," he hissed furiously as Snape paired up the rest of the class. "Real _smart_, Malfoy."

"Not my fault," I whispered nonchalantly. He directed a blistering glare at me and I smirked back at him. I reached out and touched his hand.

"But I'm _ever_ so sorry-"

"Fuck off," he replied, cutting off my sarcastic jibe and snatching his hand away.

We started preparing the potion, the angry trembling of Potter's hands making him careless. Each time he made a mistake, I would chide him, sarcastically sweet and touching him lightly every chance I got. And each time he got more and more angry, telling me to fuck off and do things that I wasn't sure were actually physically possible with animals that I wasn't sure existed.

In what seemed like no time (although I was quite sure it had been an eternity for Wonder Boy), our potion was finished, being poured into a flask and handed to Snape. It wasn't too bad, considering Potter's total lack of talent regarding the art of potion-making.

And his anger; the anger that I found so amusing.

The bell rang and Crabbe and Goyle fell into step behind me as we filed out into the corridor. The Golden Boy and his sidekicks muttered between themselves, shooting furtive glances at me. I grinned and sauntered over to them.

"Well done, Potter!" I said, patting him on the back. "An _excellent _job. Absolutely _spiffing._" I waited for the insult I knew was going to follow, entirely sure that he would throw in a glare for good measure.

So I was completely shocked to find myself pinned to the wall by his hand on my throat.

"What the fuck?" I spat angrily.

"Don't fucking touch me, Malfoy," he hissed. "Don't patronize me, don't talk to me, don't look at me and _don't fucking touch me._"

The famous green eyes blazed almost black with anger and I swallowed.

The Mudblood grabbed his hand and tried to pull it away.

"Don't, Harry," she said darkly. "He's not worth it."

He hesitated a second, then his hand dropped and mine flew to my throat, knowing that there would be bruises in the morning. Stupid Potter.

"Good thing you've got the Mudblood, Potter," I snarled. "Might get into all kinds of sticky situations without her."

It was the Weasel who lunged forward this time, and Potter grabbed his arm, holding him back.

"My knight in shining armour," I sneered, directing my Nasty Grin at him. He gave me a withering look.

"Even killing is too good for you, Malfoy," he shot back.

Returning the withering look, I pushed past him and stalked away.

I pace around the common room, feeling Ron and Hermione's eyes follow my every step. I know they want me to calm down and talk to them. I can almost hear Hermione's brain whirring and trying to find the right words.

"Harry..." she starts.

I stop and smash my fist into a vase on one of the tables. Broken china scatters on the floor. I lift my hand and see there's blood on the knuckles.

Hermione gasps and rushes over, grasping at my hand. I snatch it away, retreating to the other side of the room. Ron is frozen in his seat.

"Harry?" she asks, timidly taking a step towards me.

Blood drips onto the carpet. I stare at it.

"Harry, your hand..." Hermione says, desperation tingeing her voice.

My eyes slowly lift and meet hers.

After a moment, she takes a few more steps towards me, reaching for my hand again.

"Don't touch me," I hear myself snarl and she steps back, stunned. My eyes widen and I reach for her, the apology already forming in my mind.

Then as I see her eyes fill with tears, the world explodes and I run from the room.

Half an hour later, my body is numb from not moving. I've been sitting on the stairs to the dorm, too ashamed to go inside, too scared of running into Malfoy to leave. Hermione's stopped crying, and I can no longer hear Ron's attempts to soothe her.

I bite my lip; wondering if now would be a good time to go back in.

"What's wrong with him, Ron?" Hermione's hesitant question drifts towards me and my muscles tense suddenly.

Ron takes a deep breath – so deep that I can here it from my spot on the stairs. "I don't know. Malfoy's been pissing him off more than normal lately, but that can't be enough to make him act like this."

He must be really worried, one part of my mind says. Not even a 'stupid git' for Malfoy.

"What else could it be, then?"

Silence, then Ron's explosive sigh. "No idea."

"Can't you ask him? Try and get him to talk about it?"

"Maybe," Ron says doubtfully. Panic creeps into his voice. "What if Voldemort's possessing him again?"

I've heard enough.

I run up the rest of the stairs, not caring how much noise I make, and clamber out onto the roof.

_"What if Voldemort's possessing him again?"_ Ron's voice floats into my mind.

What if he was?

I knew I hadn't been exactly sunshine and daises recently, but possession? That was serious stuff.

I looked out over the courtyard, watching the people down there. Here, a group of first year Gryffindors play Exploding Snap. There, seventh year Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws seem to be arguing over something. Over there, Dean and Seamus weave through the people, no doubt on their way to the Quidditch pitch.

When the blonde head first ducks out in the late Autumn sunshine, my gaze automatically snaps to it and my hands ball into fists. Malfoy, the bastard. Out here just to taunt me with his stupid blonde hair and his stupid cronies.

Bet it's his fault, I think furiously. Bet he's put a spell on me and it's letting Voldemort possess me. Bet it's him making me go crazy, not letting me sleep because I can't stop thinking...

I stop abruptly.

Possession.

Not Voldemort. Not the Dark Lord. But something just as evil, and my stomach contracts, my heartbeat accelerating.

Even as the name forms in my mind, I shy away from it. I won't believe it.

I scowled. The scarf was absolutely necessary to cover up the marks of Potter's hand on my throat. But sitting in front of a fire, even in the dungeons, wearing a _scarf_ was total madness. I was boiling.

Standing up, I made my way across to the door. Crabbe and Goyle automatically stood to follow and I bit off the insulting rejection of their company that sprang to my tongue. I'd find some first years to terrorise. That would make me feel better.

Stupid Potter, I thought as I made my way through the halls. My neck fucking _hurts. _

The fates must have put him on this earth to piss me off. There was no way in hell he'd do it so well otherwise. Walking round the school, being the upstanding, moral, _perfect _student. Stopping a fight there, saving a damsel in distress there, signing some giggling first year's schoolbag and breaking just about every damn rule in the school on the side without getting caught. Oh, yes. The Boy Who Lived To Make Me Want To Kill Myself's life was _so _difficult.

Everywhere I went; he was there, being perfect. And when he wasn't there, he ran around in little perfect circles in my head, driving me more and more insane every day.

I stepped out into the courtyard and was immediately accosted by Blaise, demanding to know where I'd been.

"Fucking Potter," I snapped.

She was silent for a second, and then laughed. "Good one, Draco," she said light-heartedly. "Almost had me fooled for a second."

I realised what I'd said then and groaned.

"I didn't mean that," I began, cursing myself for blushing.

"Sure," she said, raising her eyebrows ever so slightly. I glared at her.

"You know better than that, Blaise. I fucking hate fucking Harry Potter."

She gave me an odd look, head titling to one side.

"I don't doubt that," she said after a second, taking my arm and starting to walk back towards the dungeons. "But lately I think you're starting to get a bit obsessed with him."

"Obsessed?" I spluttered. "Obsessed?"

She didn't reply and kept walking, humming a little tune.

I clenched my teeth in anger. Obsessed my arse, I thought heatedly. It's all part of The Plan

It's not true. Not _possible_.

My brain repeats it over and over again, like saying it will make the rest go away.

It's not my fault! I silently scream. He's the one who's been watching me. He's put some stupid spell on me, trying to make me weak so that Voldemort can get to me...

Stop.

It's not true. I'm just freaking out.

That's all. Freaking out. I'm practically being stalked; I'm reacting perfectly normally.

The next thoughts come quickly, angrily.

I'll kill him. He's doing something to me. It has to be a spell. Some weird spell that makes me think about him all the time, dream about him...

Possession.

Not _by _Voldemort. _For _Voldemort.

By Malfoy.


End file.
